


Let Our Walls Cave In

by JekkieFan



Series: Let Our Walls Cave In [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Crowley Has Long Hair (Good Omens), Crowley's Hair (Good Omens), Fluff, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Hair Washing, M/M, No beta we fall like Crowley, Other, Post-Canon, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:08:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21690706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JekkieFan/pseuds/JekkieFan
Summary: A month had passed since the Armageddon-that-never-was. And with the new era came a new style. Crowley wasn’t sure in what way he’d change his wardrobe yet. One thing was for sure: he was growing his hair out.Or, five times the ineffable idiots make excuses for Aziraphale to play with Crowley's hair, and one time they don't.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Let Our Walls Cave In [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707562
Comments: 53
Kudos: 190





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sara_wolfe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_wolfe/gifts).



> This is written for Sara_wolfe and their amazing prompt for the 2019 GOmens Holiday Swap:  
> "Aziraphale loves playing with Crowley's hair. Crowley loves having his hair played with. They can't actually talk about this like functional ethereal beings, and they think this level of contact is all they're allowed to have/want, so they keep inventing excuses to be able to touch/be touched by the other. Bonus if there's an incredibly contrived hair washing scene that both of them think they're talking the other one into."  
> Like how could I not say no to this!? Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this!

A month had passed since the Armageddon-that-never-was. And with the new era came a new style. Crowley wasn’t sure in what way he’d change his wardrobe yet. One thing was for sure: he was growing his hair out. Now normally he’d just will his hair longer, but he thought he’s try it the human way. He had all the time in the world after all.

As summer faded into autumn, hot and cold began their vicious battle with each other. Cold was currently winning as dark clouds formed over St. James Park. Below Aziraphale and Crowley were on one of their Sunday walks. Aziraphale was dressed for the oncoming cool weather, while Crowley opted for fashionable as opposed to functional. The paper-thin, dark grey coat did nothing more than keep out the wind. Any warmth the sun could have offered was blocked by the clouds.

“So,” Crowley said to distract from the cool breeze. “What does A Z stand for?”

Aziraphale paused, and gave Crowley a confused look. “You mean my human name?”

“Yeah.” Crowley began musing of what names the angel came up with, “So what is it? Allan Zira Fell?” He had a bit of a swagger in in step as he thought out loud. “Maybe something ecclesiastical? Like uh…. Ambrose Zacharias Fell.”

“Oh no no,” Aziraphale shook his head.

“Right, doesn’t roll off the tongue. Second one’s got too many syllables.”

“How about you tell me what the J stands for first,” Aziraphale said, trying to divert the conversation.

Crowley groaned. He didn’t want to repeat that it was quite literally just a single letter (at least it was after he changed it in 1940). Meanwhile his clever friend probably had a whole name and made-up family linage. “I told you, it’s just a J.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes a little. “Oh really.”

“Yes, really,” Crowley said, simply. “Would I lie to you?”

Out of habit a voice in Aziraphale said _Because you’re a demon._ “No,” Aziraphale said out loud, “I guess you wouldn’t.” Then, “My apologies.”

Crowley shrugged it off, “Eh, habits and all. You can tell me your human name when you want, because I know you thought of something.”

Aziraphale let out a chuckle, then asked. “But if you decided that it did stand for something, what name would you chose?”

Crowley let out a mess of sound as he found his words. An especially cold wind came by, and Crowley wrap his arms around himself. He didn’t particularly like the conversation, and he liked the cold even less. Just when Crowley thought that this walk was a bad idea, it started to rain. First they fell as minuscule droplets. Then...

A large drop fell on his glasses. “Uh, angel?”

Then it poured.

The icy water quickly seeped through Crowley’s coat. Aziraphale took him by the arm, and dashed under a tree. Leaves fluttered around them as the rain knocked them down.

“No one said anything about rain,” Aziraphale chuckled, feeling out of breath.

Crowley held in a shiver. “It’s London, of course it’s going to rain,” He hissed more harshly than intended. Then a wind came and Crowley’s corporation couldn’t hold in his chilled trembling. He put his hands under his arms in hopes to look casual.

Aziraphale glared at him with concern. “You’re freezing! Just look at you, you’re shaking.”

Crowley tried to shrug it off.

Aziraphale put his hands on Crowley’s forearms and tried to rub them warm. “Is anybody watching?” he said looking around with caution.

After audibly stumbling out of the flustered aftereffects of Aziraphale touching his arms, Crowley managed to mumble, “No one’s watching.”

Aziraphale stopped and took note of this reaction with worry. A flash of memories came to Aziraphale. One of the demon flinching or freezing at a touch from the angel. A part of Aziraphale broke inside. He had been careful not to try to be too affectionate, and frighten Crowley. But it seems that he’s overstepped again.

Meanwhile Crowley inwardly frowned at the lack of angel holding his arm. Then the echos of _too fast_ ran in his head

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and miracled them to bookshop.

The warm air mingled with the cold that Crowley felt in his bones. Water dripped onto the wood floors and echoed in the empty shop. The warmth seeped in and made him feel colder than he actually was. Crowley’s teeth began to chatter again as gooseflesh rushed from his shoulders down his back and arms. The icy water clung to his fiery locks, and dripped down his neck.

“Goodness, Crowley!” Aziraphale took off his friend’s coat and hung it up, “You’ll catch a cold like this.”

Crowley found himself being guided into the backroom. “Demons don’t get colds,” he hissed through his teeth. “Neither do angels,” he added for good measure. Though he wasn’t sure to what measure he was adding. This chill really made it hard for his serpentine brain to think.

“That may be true, but it’s certainly not good for you,” the angel said firmly. “Sit while I get you a towel.” In a moment Aziraphale was off and up the stairs.

Crowley hugged his arms and inspected his clothes. He didn’t think the angel would be too keen on letting him get rainwater on his vintage couch. Then again, he was the one that invited Crowley to sit. After a couple seconds he found that his shoes and pant-ends were soaked. Crowley slipped his socks and shoes off before immediately regretting it. A slight breeze from who knows where sent another wave of shivers through the man-shaped serpent.

Aziraphale returned with towel in hand. He sat next to the demon and tsked. “You’re still freezing. Here.” The angel draped the throw blanket over Crowley’s shoulders, and the towel over his head.

The towel smelled just as soft as it felt. The sent of lilac and vanilla mixed with the earthy smell of the rainwater that clung to his hair. Crowley held the blanket around his shoulders with one hand, and took off his glasses with the other.

For a moment Aziraphale hesitated, looking on at Crowley’s covered hair, wondering if the demon was wincing in preparation of touch. The guilt bit at him. “May I help?” he said slowly, placing a hand on the towel.

“’S fine.” Crowley’s voice was muffled, or maybe he was just speaking softly. Aziraphale wasn’t sure which one it was. Without resistance Crowley let Aziraphale start to dry his hair.

What Crowley expected was the frantic rubbing and frizzing of his hair. Instead he felt the soft massage of towel-covered fingers on his scalp. It was sudden, but not unwelcome. In an attempt to hold in his elated emotions, he took a firmer hold on throw blanket. Aziraphale saw this take place, and lightened the massage. Crowley only closed his eyes and savored the sensation. Aziraphale tried to think of some lighthearted topic to distrait his warming face. From Shakespeare to pothos plants and everything in-between, the angel’s thoughts flitted but never landed. Before a topic was thought of, he was done.

“It’s all dry,” Aziraphale said a little louder than he wanted. He removed the towel and began to fold it.

“Yep,” Crowley managed to say after breaking out of the calm haze. He stretched his back and stood up.

“Do you feel any warmer?”

Crowley only nodded. In fact he felt very warm, and was currently trying to hide his blushing cheeks by rubbing his face. He needed something to distract himself.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Care for a drink?”

The demon shrugged in an attempt to seem casual. “Sure.”

As Aziraphale got up to get some wine, both beings left the moment wondering if they’d get another moment like that again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see your "The J is just a J because Crowley wouldn't lie to Aziraphale," and your "Crowley names himself Janthony because he panicked," and raise you a "Why not both?" So to remedy this Crowley changes the Janthony to just a J. But he still feels bad about it, cuz he thinks Aziraphale has a crazy good human name. Little does he know Aziraphale's human name was also made in an equal state of panic.  
> The title is from "Heart" by Sleeping At Last, which I feel really fits these two. But I almost titled this fic after an mcr song. Not for any good reason other than I listened to their music while writing the draft of this whole fic.  
> If you liked this fic please comment or kudos! Or don't, I mean I don't rule your life.


	2. Chapter 2

Everything had been going alright. Aziraphale was unboxing the newest additions to his shop. The books were new, but had been praised as instant classics. Normally skeptical, Aziraphale found the various premises interesting. And besides, it was a new world. What better time to try out new things?

The angel searched his shelves for space, hoping that he wouldn’t need to miracle another room. As he searched, Aziraphale heard the previously locked door open. Aziraphale turned with a smile on his face that was immediately discarded.

Crowley stood there, glasses missing, covered in grass, and dirt, and... long, white feathers.

Fear of their old sides coming back, made his blood turned icy. Aziraphale rushed to the exhausted demon’s side. With a snap, Aziraphale locked every door and covered every window. He took Crowley carefully by the shoulder. Only the skylight illuminated the scene.

Crowley didn’t speak, but only stayed there looking miserable.

Still looking at Crowley, Aziraphale took out a feather. “What happened? What did they do to you?” he asked softly.

Crowley gave a little jolt. He looked down and shook his head. “No… isss not. Isss sss...” he trailed off.

“Pardon?”

“Ssswanssss,” he hissed. Crowley’s head hit Aziraphale’s shoulder in embarrassment. “Didn’t ssssee ‘em. They sssaw me.”

“A swan did this?” Aziraphale said confused.

He began mumbling, “Two of ‘em. Wanted the pastries.”

Aziraphale quickly inspected Crowley’s person, and found no bag. “What pastries?”

“Exactly,” he hissed.

The pressure of worry and anxiety lifted. The angel swallowed his laughter for Crowley’s sake. “I’m sorry. Let me help you.”

Crowley felt Aziraphale brushing off the grass and things that hung onto him. The touch eased his nerves, and diverted his frustration.

The angel took a step back. “Please sit,” Aziraphale said to his face.

Crowley stifled a flustered blush as he let himself be lead to the backroom. He ran his hands through his hair, picking out what he could, and putting it in his small pockets, lest the roughage fall on Aziraphale’s floor. Crowley sat down on the couch while Aziraphale poured two cups of tea. The delicate fragrance of jasmine made Crowley relax his shoulders. He looked at the throw blanket that he used to keep warm just a couple weeks prior. On it was a pattern dating from the forties or fifties most likely. The gentle clatter of a tea cup on its saucer woke Crowley from his gaze. He took the cup from Aziraphale, and brought the steaming liquid to his lips.

Content with Crowley’s safety, Aziraphale took his cup to his chair, and began reading. He would have gone back to shelving books, but after the resent false alarm he decided it best to sit a while.

Crowley set his cup down, and ran his hand though his hair again, fingers getting tangled in the knots. The demon didn’t think his hair was long enough to get tangles like this. He grumbled as he picked apart the rough snarl.

“Hey, angel?” he said. “Could you get me a brush?” The knot he was working on snapped apart. It hurt. Not physically, but somewhere deep inside it dug at him.

A moment later an old metal brush lay in Crowley’s hand. Crowley used it to attack his ginger foe, but was quickly meet with defeat. He stopped for a moment, and watched Aziraphale drink his tea. A memory came first. Then slowly an idea crept in.

“Um,” his mouth said before he was finished thinking. Maybe the angel wouldn’t respond.

Aziraphale turned his head to face him. “Yes?”

_Shit._ “I um… could you help…?” he trailed off while indicating to his matted hair.

It took a second for Aziraphale to process the request. In that second Crowley found ten-thousand ways to curse himself. But Aziraphale rose to his feet and gave the assured reply, “Why but of course.”

As Aziraphale approached, Crowley’s heart did somersaults at the thought of the angel brushing his hair. The feeling made thoughts flood in. _Why but of course_ … Did he feel compelled to help him? No no no, Crowley didn’t want that!

But before the demon could contemplate any more, he felt the wonderful scratch of bristles on his head. Shivers ran up his spine. The soft tug of strands being pulled by the brush felt like gentle plucks on his heartstrings. He drank it in, feeling grateful to do something like this a second time.

Meanwhile Aziraphale watched happily as the fiery hair sparked back to life with each stroke. The worst of the knots where smoothed. Aziraphale eased at the soft rushing sound of bristles combing between hair. And he was surprised to find Crowley rather relaxed. A few strokes of the brush later, and Aziraphale was done.

“All straightened out,” he said quietly as he patted Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley ran his hand though his hair again. As he wondered how his hair could be softer than it was that morning, he let out a yawn. He tried to stop it, so Aziraphale would have less reason to worry.

“Tired?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley tensed. “A bit, but I’ll manage.” He stood up and quickly thought of a distraction. “Feeling peckish, angel?”

A glowing smile spread on Aziraphale’s face. “Just a little. Let’s try that Mediterranean restaurant again. Maybe a table upstairs this time?”

A blush dusted the bridge of Crowley’s face as his heart felt like combusting.“I think a table just opened up.”

Together they left the tea, walked out to the Bentley, and drove (speedily) to the restaurant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swans are real jerks. But this was inspired by one time when I was a small seven year old. My mom and I went to my neighborhood's tiny pond to feed the geese that like to flock there every year. Before we found out that w̶h̶e̶a̶t̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶b̶y̶-̶w̶h̶e̶a̶t̶ ̶p̶r̶o̶d̶u̶c̶t̶s̶ bread-things are bad for birds, my mom and I brought a couple stale tortillas with us. We started feeding them, but quickly ran out. When we saw more geese coming my mom left to get more bread. Upon her return I was there, a small child, surrounded by dozens of angry geese that demanded more food... I never went to the pond to feed the geese after that. So I imagine Crowley had a similar, but more violent, experience.   
> Comments and kudos are cool if you feel like leaving them.


	3. Chapter 3

An early snow came that November. Not a harsh ice that cut the skin of anyone who dare step outside. Instead soft flakes the size of dandelion wishes fell on central London. Normally on a day cold enough to warrant snow, Crowley and Aziraphale would be in the cozy bookshop. But all of the days had been cold, and the two began to get restless. They didn’t expect snow when they head out to a cafe a few blocks from the shop.

Crowley watched out the window with bitterness as snow dusted the streets. He willed his black tea warmer and brought it to his lips.

“Look at that,” Aziraphale audibly beamed, “it’s snowing.”

“Yeah,” Crowley grumbled into his cup. “Means it’s freezing.”

Aziraphale put his fork down on his plate of raspberry cheesecake, “If I had known, I wouldn’t have picked this cafe. It’s a far walk from home.” The word _home_ slipped from his heart and out his mouth.

Crowley rolled a shoulder back to deal with his heart fluttering at Aziraphale’s implication. “Maybe wait it out?”

Aziraphale contemplated this while taking another bite of cheesecake. “It could get worse. What does it say on your phone?”

He shuffled a bit as he pulled his phone out of his jacket. After a minute of typing and scrolling Crowley made a frustrated groan.

“What is it?” Aziraphale put his fork down again.

“Gets worse.”

“Should we leave now then?”

“No no no,” Crowley leaned back in his chair. “Finish your cake. Then we’ll go.”

A pause, then. “Actually it’s a raspberry cheesecake.”

Crowley shrugged, “’S food.”

Instead of playfully fighting with him, Aziraphale though it a better use of time to agree. “It’s good food. Would you like to try some?”

Crowley shook his head. “You eat. I got this,” he lifted his cup to indicate the _this_ of his statement.

Aziraphale ate and, as usual, Crowley watched behind tinted glasses. A spell later and the two ventured out into the snowy afternoon. The snowfall had stopped momentarily. The calm before the storm in the most literal sense. Wind caused the unmelted flakes to swirl around their feet like rippling water. Aziraphale’s nose and cheeks grew pink by the time they turned the corner. But for the most part the angel was quiet warm. He always did run warmer than most humans. Other than his exposed face, he wasn’t all that cold. Meanwhile Crowley stuffed his hands in his pockets and moved at a sluggish pace. The chill set deep in his bones until it felt like his blood matched the wintry air. He could live with this. At least he wasn’t…

And then he was.

The sound subtle at first, then quickly grew as loud as the wind. His breath was stifled in a loud quiver. Loud enough for the angel to hear.

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, “Are you alright?”

Crowley stood there shivering like a branch in a winter gale. “Uh...”

And before anything could be said between them, it began to snow.

Crowley hissed.

Without a second thought Aziraphale pulled off his coat and wrapped it around Crowley’s shoulders. The angel was still wearing his under jacket, and seemed perfectly fine without the coat. He fastened the first two buttons for Crowley.

A part of Crowley wanted to protest. But another, much bigger part, enjoyed the residual warmth and coziness. “Let’s hurry up before it gets worse,” he said as he passed Aziraphale.

Aziraphale strolled over and followed beside him, snow deep enough for feet to leave faint prints. Frustrated steam left Crowley’s mouth before dissipating into the wind. He was muttering something to himself, but Aziraphale couldn’t tell what.

Before long the bookshop came into view, and the two hurried inside.

Aziraphale rubbed his gloved hands together, “Much better in here than out there.” He turned on the lights. As amber light flooded the room, Aziraphale turned to Crowley, and was struck breathless.

The snowflakes clung to Crowley’s fiery red locks like a crown of ice. The warm light of the shop made the flakes dazzle like embers. Snow dusted the fibers of the tan coat that Crowley held tight around him.

Aziraphale walked up to him. “You have snow in your hair.”

Crowley froze under Aziraphale’s gaze. He brain scrambled to find the words, or any words, to reply with. “I do?” he managed.

Aziraphale nodded. “Could I?” Aziraphale asked, then internally wanted to redact the question. But it was already published to his audience, he had to go with it. “It’s just that you’re so cold, you shouldn’t have snow on you any longer.”

Crowley shifted his weight and shrugged, “Yeah, yes, of course.” He looked down at the floor as his rosy cheeks grew pinker.

His hair had held in the wintry air, but the snowflakes melted instantly to Aziraphale’s gloved hand. Much to the angel’s amusement, Crowley’s hair turned a shade darker as more snow melted. Aziraphale silently miracled the auburn locks dry as he combed with his hand.

Meanwhile Crowley had to keep from leaning into Aziraphale’s warm hands. He tried to distract himself by watching the snow on his shoes melt. It didn’t work. In a moment of weakness Crowley closed his eyes and leaned forward an inch. Aziraphale’s felt-covered fingers brushed his scalp. A pleasant shiver skimmed down his spine.

Aziraphale brushed out the last bit of snow. He clasped his hands behind his back, “Do you need me to help you with your coat?”

Crowley shook his head. Not only as a reply, but to wake from the haze. “I got it.”

“Well I have some work to finish, but make yourself comfortable.”

“Alright.”

They departed from the other’s presence. Crowley sauntered through the rows of shelves. Eyes scanned the spines, but never settling on anything specific. Aziraphale doing the same with his manuscripts. He rub his face, then re-read the cursive sentences. Both beings unable to shake the previous moment from their minds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going through my first winter with my pet snake, and the thing that's on my mind 24/7 is if she's cold. And I think that has manifested into writing "Crowley has to deal with The Winter™ and Aziraphale trying to keep him warm" more than once in a single fic.  
> This one's kinda short. That's because I scrapped the original idea of Crowley somehow getting flowers in his hair. I mean, I still REALLY LIKE that idea, but wasn't sure how to fit it in this fic. If ya'll have cute fics where Aziraphale puts flowers in Crowley's hair send them my way [on tumblr](https://jekkiefan.tumblr.com)  
> But yeah, comment or kudos if you feel like it.


	4. Chapter 4

Hats were very much needed that winter. This especially rang true if one was a man-shaped, serpentine demon. But hats combined with long hair were much more of a minor hassle for Crowley. He wasn’t the biggest fan of frizz. This is why he scowled at his refection when he hung up his hat in the bookshop. He tried to comb his hands through the copper mess, but only managed to charge his hair with static. Crowley figured it was best to leave his hair be.

Or…

Crowley sauntered into the office where Aziraphale was reading. The angel probably didn’t want to be bothered. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

“Hey, angel,” his mouth said before he was ready to speak.

Thankfully Aziraphale didn’t respond.

Crowley relaxed his stiff frame. He leaned over Aziraphale’s shoulder to see the dusty manuscript, his hand on the back of the chair. The vary tip of Crowley’s finger brushed Aziraphale’s back. Now the thing with static electricity is that it only takes the smallest of touches to...

_Snap!_

“Ow!” the both of them jumped.

Aziraphale turned around to find Crowley shaking the shock out of his hand. “What was that for?”

“It was an accident,” he said with a soft hiss. “Didn’t mean to, angel. Had some static.”

Aziraphale sighed to release his personal tension. “It’s alright. Sorry for snapping at you.” He paused to sit more comfortably in his chair. “Do you need anything?”

The spotlight shone on Crowley now. His mind raced back to his half-baked plan. As his brain stumbled over words and sentences, Crowley began speaking. “You think my hair’s a mess?”

Before Crowley could take back his words, Aziraphale leaned forward to inspect his ginger hair. “It does look rather tangled.” He looked at Crowley’s sunglass-covered eyes, “Would you like help?” Inside Aziraphale noted how nervous Crowley looked. He wanted to hide his head in his hands and apologize for pushing his friend.

“Sure. You’ll plait it?” he suggested casually despite wishing he’d discorporate already.

Aziraphale stopped like a dear in the headlights for a moment. “Oh of course.”

_Too fast!_ Crowley’s brain screamed in a cacophonous chorus. But he sat down in a spare chair and took off his glasses without much of a fight.

There was a soft snap of fingers. Then Aziraphale stood with a brush now in hand. He began to diligently brush out the ends first. Crowley sat still and tried not to focus on the pleasant sensation.

As he began to fix Crowley’s hair, Aziraphale carefully undid any stubborn tangles he came across. That is to say two, there were only two stubborn tangles. However they could be more accurately described as a couple of fighting hair strands, than a full on knotted nest.

Once his curls were smoothed out, Crowley held back a flinch as fingers briefly ran along his scalp. A nice buzz tingled where Aziraphale touched, causing Crowley to think of nothing else.

Aziraphale held back a happy wiggle, and instead put all of his focus into plaiting. He carded the auburn locks through his fingers. Aziraphale listened carefully to the sound of individual strands shifting. When he had even parts he began the actual process of plaiting his hair. He made sure his hair was taut so as to avoid flyaways. Aziraphale gently pulled, and artfully intertwined the trio of locks.

Sadly, as soon as he began, Aziraphale was wrapping a hair band at the end of the plait. The snap of the band marked the end of the silent moment between the two.

Crowley pulled his hair to the front as Aziraphale put away his things. The demon ran his hand along the smooth bumps. Each one getting smaller and smaller until the end.

“It’s nice,” Crowley murmured.

Crowley looked up just in time to see Aziraphale toss him a beaming smile. “You’re very welcome,” he said. Almost like a response Aziraphale felt a wave of love almost knocked him over. _Wonder where that came from._

Crowley tried to contain his fluttering emotions by giving Aziraphale a half, almost smile. He stood from his spot on the chair and sauntered over to a bookshelf.

“How about some tea?”

Crowley turned his head from the books he wasn’t very interested in. “Uh, yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

A moment later the aroma of spiced tea lightly drifted in the bookshop. It mingled with the smell of old books and cozy warmth. Crowley flicked a forked tongue to better experience it. As Aziraphale began setting up the tea things, he heard the soft clunk of snakeskin boots approaching. The evening seemed it was going to be a calm and comforting one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So during the time I was writing this I found out that a braid is also called a plait. AND that "braid" is apparently a word American's use for hair that's intertwined with three or more parts? Am I wrong??? Do British people also use the word "braid" regularly???? I have no clue. I am confusion.  
> But If you enjoyed this fic leave a comment or kudos if you want.


	5. Chapter 5

In the attempt to grow is hair out the human way, Crowley sought out shortcuts. Human shortcuts, he wouldn’t give in and will his hair longer. From vitamins to special soaps and conditioners, he tried them all. Some worked more than others, while some were just plain stupid. He’d have to put this newest scheme into the stupid category, useful or not. _Maybe the humans are onto something. Maybe it’s like a dust bath_ , he internally mocked himself. Dirt is still dirt, no matter where it’s from. Crowley swore that he still felt a speck or two itching at his scalp. He needed a drown his embarrassment, preferably in alcohol.

*

The next morning Crowley woke alone in a foreign, but familiarly decorated, bed. He flicked his tongue and smelled nothing but book dust with a hint of angel. Then he recalled getting drunk with Aziraphale in the bookshop. And when the alcohol made the demon tired, Aziraphale offered his room. Another foggy memory returned of him trudging up the stairs while the sober Aziraphale read something in his office. Judging by his headache he must have forgotten to sober up. Crowley sat up and rubbed his face, a minor miracle washing away the pain.

As ribbons of morning light fluttered in, Crowley ran his hand through his hair, thinking. He never spends much time at his flat anymore. Other than watering his plants, he can usually be found with Aziraphale. Maybe at his shop, dining out, or just being in his presence, Crowley was there.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale popped his head around the corner. He was dressed in sleepwear despite never sleeping. “You’re awake?”

He scratched at his scalp. Then it hit him. He was in Aziraphale’s room, in his _bed_. Yes, Aziraphale never uses the bed, in fact Crowley was probably the first person to sleep in it. But it was the principle of the thing! A spike of anxiety pierced his heart. Maybe he shouldn’t have slept at the shop. This was too much.

But Aziraphale showed no signs of alarm. Rather he looked revealed. “Did you remember to sober-up? If not I have some pain tablets that might help,” Aziraphale said stepping further into the room.

Still scratching his head, Crowley felt his heart skip a beat at the angel’s kindness. But before he could respond, Aziraphale threw him another question.

“Is something wrong with your hair?”

Surprised at first, then embarrassment bubbled up. “Uh, yeah,” Crowley mumbled. “Been growing out my hair the human way. Tried something out. Didn’t work.”

“Is,” he paused, wanting to say the right words so as to not worry his friend. “Is it causing you problems?”

Crowley stopped messing with his hair. “Kinda itchy.”

“That sounds awfully uncomfortable. Would you like me to take a look?” Aziraphale tried to hide his nerves, but gave it away by wringing his hands.

Crowley saw where this was going. This was another one of those times Aziraphale touched his hair. It was happening a lot since The End that Never Came to Be. But never once had they done that before. No wonder why it was causing the angel stress. “Only if you want to,” Crowley said. There. Completely deniable.

Aziraphale walked to Crowley’s side and inspected a lock of auburn hair. “It’s somewhat dusty.” This was partly true. Mostly his hair has less of the beautiful shine that Aziraphale silently adored.

Crowley winced.

“Are you feeling well?” Aziraphale’s hazel eyes coated in worry.

Crowley nodded. “You’re supposed to leave the stuff in,” he explained, trying not to tell the whole humiliating story. “Maybe I should wash it out.” The second the words were said, Crowley wanted to take them back. If this truly was one of those times, then Aziraphale would feel obliged to help him.

There was a pause. Aziraphale was currently trying to figure out how to ask without frightening his friend further. “Well,” he began as he stood up straight and proper, “if you’d like, I could wash this out for you. You know, an extra set of eyes to get it all out.”

“And we both know you have plenty of those. Eyes, that is.” Crowley tried to be causal in an attempt to stop his fluttering heart.

Aziraphale let out a small chuckle, “Well not in this form, of course. You go on. I’ll get the towels and things.”

Crowley nodded. He followed Aziraphale through his tiny flat. It was mostly used for storage, and could comfortably house no more than two people. Every place that could hold books, did. And every place that couldn’t hold a book was decorated with regency era furnishings. Aziraphale had bought them with the shop, but never bothered to update anything.

Soon Crowley found himself in the bathroom, the only upgraded room in the flat. Also the smallest. Aziraphale got a spare chair, and sat it down by the sink. Silently Crowley sat down. He watched as Aziraphale gathered a stack of fluffy towels, various bottles of presumably soap, and a single hair brush.

Crowley sat in a wooden chair the angel had provided, and Aziraphale started brushing out the demon’s long, ginger hair. It wasn’t too bad, just some light bedhead. Whenever the brush snagged on a knot Aziraphale’s heart broke a little. He didn’t want any harm, big or small, to hurt his dear friend. Each time he would awkwardly mumble an apology. And each time Crowley would shrug off the minor pain.

When he was done, the angel plucked the smallest towel from the top of the stack, and draped it around Crowley’s shoulders.

“What’s the towel for?”

“I wouldn’t want you to get your shirt wet,” Aziraphale said while trying to busy himself.

Crowley relaxed into the chair. He lay his head back on the sink. The cold bathtub pressed into the side of his leg. Not the most comfortable, but he was fine. “Looks like you’re fully prepared,” he joked.

Aziraphale felt his cheeks grow hot, and said nothing. Instead he got to work.

He carefully rolled up his sleeves, so as not to wrinkle his shirt too much. He quickly miracled the sink deeper to avoid problems with the drain. Crowley closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Aziraphale detached the shower hose and ran the water over his wrist. The cold water was a shock at first. But slowly warmth crept in until it was the perfect temperature.

Crowley felt the warm water gradually seep it’s way between curly locks. It actually tickled a little. Not in a bad way, but a fun and calming way. Like one’s favorite soft drink on a sunny afternoon.

Aziraphale watched the water gradually soak the fiery locks. He had laid out Crowley’s hair to reduce tangles. The result was a sparkling auburn waterfall. Aziraphale carefully moved the hair and hose to make sure no strand was left dry.

Crowley felt a slight tug at his hair, and the smell of vanilla and lilac bloomed around him. Crowley’s urge to flick his serpentine tongue was quickly repressed by the sensation of Aziraphale’s hands on his scalp. The moment was brief, and left him wondering if that was all.

Aziraphale saw Crowley tense again, and he eased with rubbing in the shampoo. “Doing fine, Crowley?”

“Never better. You?” he said biting back a full blown grin.

“Much the same.”

_V_ _ague_ , Crowley thought. He could just be agreeing again. But the calming atmosphere made his shoulders relax, making him slip a small and contented sigh. He leaned into the touch. A hint of a smile pulling at his lip. Crowley let his doubts wash away with the soap, and instead listened to the soft song of the angel’s humming.

Aziraphale couldn’t be happier. Crowley looked so content and relaxed, practically melting in his hands. He decided he would relax and enjoy the moment as well. Feeling the soft smoothness of auburn hair. Something he’s always wanted to do since Eden. Slowly Aziraphale cradled his head to get to the nape of his neck.

Crowley could fall asleep. Fingers trailed from his temples down to the back of his head. Suds crackled by his ears as the gentle aroma surrounded him. There were times he thought he actually did fall asleep. Each time Crowley would shift in his chair, and take in a wakeful breath.

The shampoo was rinsed out, and Aziraphale delicately put in the conditioner. After Crowley’s hair was gently combed through again, Aziraphale said, “Lift your head.”

“Am I done?” came the groggy reply. Crowley slowly sat up, feeling the weight of his wet hair.

“Yes, it just needs dried.” With that said, Aziraphale took the other towel and massaged dried his hair until all the water was gone.

With his fingers, Crowley combed his hair behind his shoulders. He found that his hair was a least ten times softer than before. “Feels nice. My hair.”

“Really?” Aziraphale’s heart leapt.

“Yeah, soft.”

Aziraphale felt giddy. It was starting to be a good day. “Your hair is naturally nice and soft,” he accidentally commented.

The two looked at each other in hopeful shock.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing,” the angel replied. “How about you help me clean up this mess.” He motioned to the towels and bottles and such.

Crowley shrugged and started with the towels.

There had been a shift. It was a small but existent shift between them. Both beings felt it take place. Both wondering if they should deny it, why they should deny it. And most importantly, what they should do now that it happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is contrived enough!  
> I actually looked up how to wash and dry hair for this, and then applied it to my own routine. Ya'll, my hair is so fricking soft now. I'm not really in that hair care scene (like I should be), but what a fool I was to bunch my hair up when I washed it! A FOOL!!! If you wanna watch the video I used as a reference, check out nevennhairbeauty's video on youtube "How to PROPERLY shampoo hair to avoid damage" It's how to wash someone else's hair, but it's easy to apply to your own hair. Main thing is to not move your hair around a lot.  
> Comments and kudos are highly appreciated! But you don't have to leave one. I get that anxiety can be like that sometimes.


	6. Chapter 6

The air was crisp and cold. Grey clouds covered any warmth the sun had to offer. Snow started gently floating down on the busy soho streets. Inside the bookshop, Crowley was doing what any sensible reptile would do on a cold, December day. He was sleeping.

Well, _trying_ to sleep.

You see, the human corporation doesn’t fair well to sleeping in the cold. The reason Crowley was in Aziraphale’s shop, as opposed to his own flat, was that he complained that his flat was much to cold for naps. This wasn’t entirely true. His flat wasn’t really cold, but it wasn’t really warm either. It was just neutral. Aziraphale knew this, but offered his quarters nonetheless. But even in the coziness of the angel’s residence, the cold settled deep in his bones. So there was Crowley, under a tartan duvet, attempting to hide from winter.

Meanwhile Aziraphale was rearranging books for the holiday season. No one can find anything when the books keep getting reorganized. Especially if said books are organized by the third letter of the last word. The downside is that it was rather time consuming. And after hours of staring at inked paper, and moving dusty leather, Aziraphale remember that he’s an angel. He can just miracle it organized. Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and let out a relived sigh.

He walked into the backroom to find Crowley basking in what was left of the day’s light. The book dust danced in the silver sunlight, giving Crowley’s fiery hair a moonlit glow. That feeling bubbled up again. The want to be close. _I could never, he could never, it would be too much._ Aziraphale told himself while dusting off a copy of _Paradise Lost_.

Then Aziraphale stopped himself. _Actually, I could,_ _and_ _he has,_ _many time_ _s_ _now_ _._ His thoughts flashed back to the other week, when his hands got to run through Crowley’s soapsud coated hair. Crowley was relaxed, and the world didn’t cave in. And all the times previous, Crowley said it was fine. He may be a demon, but he never lied to Aziraphale. Not once.

The observation hit Aziraphale like a bucket of cold water. He turned to the almost-but-not-really-slumbering Crowley. Aziraphale felt frozen in time, like the crystals that hung outside the shop. He let out a huff of nerves, and briskly moved towards the demon to ask if his theory was true.

Crowley saw him approaching, and made room enough for the angel.

Aziraphale sat on the couch next to his dear friend’s head. Crowley’s hair pooled around his pale face in more of a mess than a cascade. Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Crowley?”

The demon turned his head to the angel, eyes sleepy and uncovered, and he grumbled a little.

“I...” maybe Aziraphale needed to give his words more thought. “Do you…?” he trailed off thinking.

Crowley sat up a bit. “Do I what, angel?”

Aziraphale’s hands twitched as he tried to find his words.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, and sat up fully.

“Over the past few months,” Aziraphale began, “since Armageddon, I’ve noticed something.”

“Yeah?” Crowley tried to paint it with casual interest, but inside he was filled with worry.

“You’ve been, well,” Aziraphale continued slowly. “I’ve been helping you with your various… hair problems.”

“Hair problems?” For a moment Crowley was confused, then it hit him. All the times he coerced Aziraphale into playing with his hair. _He_ _noticed_ , Crowley tensed. Echos of _too fast_ reverberated in Crowley’s thoughts.

But Aziraphale kept talking, too focused on his own words. “Yes, well to me it seems like you’ve been letting me help you. But,” he quickly added, “I know sometimes you don’t like being touch, and I--”

“Don’t like being touched?” Crowley didn’t know he interrupted the angel out loud. His thoughts had been undone by what Aziraphale said.

“Pardon?” The angel’s attention was on Crowley now. “Are you saying that--?”

Crowley hastily fumbled over syllables and slurred his words, “Nononono, iss fine. Shouldn’t have pushed, made you all uncomfortable. It’s silly” He mumbled more dismissive replies into the duvet.

Aziraphale watch his friend emotionally fold in on himself. Every part of him ached to end the conversation, and he imagined Crowley felt the same. But Aziraphale wanted to know, he _had_ to know. Six-thousand years of not knowing, of bottling feelings, of dancing around topics, and conversations, conversations like this one, it burned. The way they’ve been coexisting burned like an exposed wound on his heart. The wound needed attending, not to be left alone.

The angel put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley looked up.

“It’s not silly,” Aziraphale said calmly. “If I hurt you, I’m sorry. But I would like to know if I hurt you are not.”

Crowley looked away. He didn’t want to be having this conversation. But at the same time he didn’t want to keep going on the way they have been. They survived the end of the world! They tricked Heaven and Hell, and evaded execution together! Yet they were still acting like their old sides were still breathing down their necks. Crowley messed with a button on the duvet, and swallowed down his anxiety. There was a moment of silence before he spoke. “It’s fine… touching my hair, it’s fine. But I… I thought you… thought it was too much for you. Like I was pushing you.” A thoughtful paused before he looked back to Aziraphale, careful dread in his eyes. “Was I pushing you?”

The soft intensity of… Crowley, his look, his words, crashed into Aziraphale. The angel shook his head. “No, never.” Now Aziraphale paused to collect himself. He smiled, rosy and assuring, “I quite like playing with your hair.”

Crowley turned his face away, suddenly very interested in the duvet button again.

The soft bustle of London outside went unnoticed. The moment of understanding, the final ties being undone, was fading. The moment that followed was an awkward settling into the present. Both parties so used to the ties, and unsure how to continue.

“Glad we’ve resolved that,” Aziraphale put his hands into his lap.

Crowley mumbled in agreement before snuggling back down into his cover. This time with his head on Aziraphale’s lap. An invitation.

All Aziraphale could see was curly auburn hair poking out of tartan. He let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and placed his hand on Crowley’s head. Azirphale stopped, and looked for affirmation. When nothing happened, Aziraphale started to lift his hand away.

Crowley’s hand emerged from the duvet and softy took Aziraphale’s wrist. The demon lead the angel’s hand back to his auburn head. Crowley let go, and snaked his arm back under the cover.

Aziraphale watched at the tip of Crowley’s ears turn pink, and smiled. Electricity traveled from the lovely copper strands, and tickled Aziraphale’s fingers as he toyed with Crowley’s hair. He took locks of hair ,and spread them out over his lap like a blanket.

It would have been easier on his heart if Crowley had be struck by lightning. He felt a tickling down his spine as the angel’s hand brushed his hair. It rendered him speechless and completely at ease. But he didn’t need words to express the joy he felt as Aziraphale stroke his temple to catch the hair just beyond. He turned into the touch, a small grin appearing on the corners of his mouth.

Aziraphale repeated this action. Running his fingers from scalp, all the way through silky strands, and to the very ends.

Crowley gave a little delighted hum. His angel was so warm. Almost involuntarily Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale whichever way he could. He basked in the warmth of his new sun that would never give way to winter’s chill.

“Reminds me of pretty red ribbons,” Aziraphale said out loud, and didn’t regret it.

“Red ribbon?” Crowley echoed.

“Yes.” Aziraphale assured while twirling a ribbon of red hair around his index. He watched as individual strands glistened and changed hue in the light. “Some parts even look almost rose gold in this lighting. It’s lovely, dear.”

He let out a flustered “Ngk,” as he shifted and snuggled into his place. Crowley took in a deep breath, trying to drink in every last drop of touch Aziraphale granted him. He let out the breath, and became so relaxed his bones could be defined as a liquid.

“But I think their demonic owner is even more lovely,” the angel said with a mischievous grin.

A muffled “Shut it, angel!” came from Crowley.

“Do you want me to stop?”

A pause.

“No,” came the small reply.

Aziraphale let out a warm chuckle, and continued playing with his dearest’s hair. Crowley indulged in the attention as he melted into the couch.

Outside the snow fell at a faster rate, but the two paid no mind to any of that. They were perfectly fine together. What better way to spend the rest of time, than with the one you care for most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! It's done! I think this is the longest fic I've written. I'm usually one for ficlets and such, so this was a bit of a project for me. But I had so much fun writing this! It was honestly the highlight of my day.  
> If you liked this fic I recommend "It's Getting Hard, This Holding Back" by ZehWulf. I found it on ao3 while editing this fic. The premise is crazy similar to this one (like I was seriously considering re-writing this whole fic). But hey, that just means that if you liked this fic, then you'll love that one!  
> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment or a kudos if you'd like.  
> Update:  
> Whoa! I got 100 kudos! That's the most I've gotten on a fic like ever! I didn't think this fic wouldn't get over ten or twenty, so I am SO HAPPY right now! Thank you all so much! To celebrate I think I'll write another soft fic like this. Maybe another 5+1 with plenty of hair playing. (I've also looked at the non-sexual intimacy tag and like bathing together??? Napping and cuddling together??? Amazing! I love it! I want to write it and do it justice!) But if any of you have some fun ideas, leave them in the comments or send me an ask on [my tumblr](https://jekkiefan.tumblr.com)


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